


take me home (i don't wanna be alone tonight)

by trevino



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Drunk Texting, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Texting, i hope you like vine references as much as i do, inspiration hit at 8:27pm and i couldn't resist writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevino/pseuds/trevino
Summary: "whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"(emily bronte ~ wuthering heights)reid's enjoying his saturday night alone, and morgan's enjoying his own at the bar. they intersect quickly, though, like two hearts meeting for the first time.texting (not a text fic though), vine references, and admissions of love at 2am.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 152





	take me home (i don't wanna be alone tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> bo burnham's vines are pretty great inspirations for fic!  
> title is taken from "cross my heart (acoustic)" by marianas trench.  
> morgan’s texts are in Italics, and reid’s are in Italics and underlined.
> 
> takes place somewhere shortly after S4E24 (amplification- the anthrax episode). 
> 
> as always, i love comments and feedback!  
> this is my first one-shot work, and i had an absolute blast writing it.

**take me home (i don't wanna be alone tonight)**

**~**

Dr. Spencer Reid has finally resigned himself to sleep around 1am on a Saturday, and he’s deep in the first hour of Stage 2 Non-REM slumber when he’s rudely interrupted ( _mid-dream_ , he begrudges to himself as he rolls over in the direction his nightstand) by the sound of his phone blaring in his ear.

He has the same ringtone for every member of the BAU team, so he’s expecting to be called in for a case by Hotch; serial killers don’t exactly respect the whole “9-to-5” thing. 

Instead, however, his phone is lit up with a text from fellow agent Derek Morgan, which, typos aside, is pretty perplexing.

_Hey prettyyy boy- isz there anythin better than pusssy?_

And damn, Reid’s certainly not drunk- the double-shot of whiskey that he’d drank while re-reading and editing a close friend’s dissertation earlier that evening has inevitably dissipated from his system- but from the looks of the text, Morgan certainly is. 

Grabbing the phone, and groaning at the screen’s absurd brightness in his otherwise dark room, he shoots off a text in response. He’s not sure if he’s hoping for an explanation, or what, but he’d feel weirder if he didn’t respond and just let the text sit blankly in his inbox.

_What? Are you drunk?_

He leans up against his headboard, resigning himself to the fact that he’s likely to not get much sleep tonight at all. They don’t often have a full weekend off, so he had planned his time down to the minute for maximum enjoyment and relaxation. In other words, he had spent his entire Saturday writing letters for his mother (who he’d hopefully be visiting soon), working on his scarf for an upcoming Doctor Who convention in Las Vegas, and, of course, reading. His plan didn’t exactly involve being awake at this hour, or fielding downright-strange texts from his coworker and best friend.

Moments later, there’s a response pinging on his phone, as typo-ridden and unclear as the first one.

_Ughhh, work with me here babyyy. It’s a Vine! Yo were supposedt to say “yes. A rly good book!!” it’s perfectt for u!!_

Morgan’s usage of the pet name “baby” is somewhat new; he’s always been fond of the “pretty boy” moniker, but it’s typically in a joking- and not a flirting- manner, contrasting to the litany of sexually-charged language that the older man exchanges with Garcia, their technical analyst. Regardless, Reid smiles; though he doesn’t often go out drinking with the team, of his own choice, he’s somewhat glad that Morgan’s texting him. Even if he _is_ fairly concerned about the man’s sobriety and texting habits. 

Shrugging, he’s about to type out a response dictating his lack of familiarity with Vine (though he had heard of the app before it was shut down, he never gave it more attention than just a cursory glance), but he doesn’t think Morgan will be able to accurately describe the app given his drunken status.

Instead, he taps on his YouTube app and types the phrase (albeit, with proper spelling this time) that Morgan sent him into the search bar. He clicks on the first 7-second video he sees, recognizing the figure as American comedian Bo Burnham, who he’s certain Garcia has mentioned once or twice. 

The video plays, and he somehow finds himself laughing out loud at the man’s gangly movements and awkward mannerisms- it’s not hard to notice that Bo Burnham does bear some slight resemblances to himself, at least.

After the video plays (he won’t admit it, but he did replay it twice), he returns to his texting app and sends off a reply to Morgan.

_How drunk are you?_

He hits send, but he immediately feels a bit bad for not acknowledging Morgan’s fairly-hilarious choice of quote- it was pretty relevant too, after all. So, he shoots off a second message before Morgan’s able to begin typing. 

_Sorry, just a little cranky, I was almost in REM sleep. It was a funny quote, thank you Morgan_ . 

The first response he gets is that of a sad face emoji- actually, _four_ sad-face emojis in a row, strike that- likely in regards to his first, somewhat stuffy message. Then, a longer string of texts come in.

_Hahaa, I KNEWW you would love it!!!_

Reid grins- drunk-Morgan really does love his excessive punctuation.

_I’m veryyyyy drunk, bby, wishin you were here n everything ;) ya gotta let loose a lil more, let that pretty hair downnn_

_i saved u a seat too :(( makin me sad_

Those last two messages make Reid’s eyes widen, and he almost doesn’t believe what he’s reading. This is _far_ more flirty than Morgan’s been towards him in the past, even when drunk.

He refuses to acknowledge the butterflies that are currently fluttering around in his ribcage. _Morgan’s just drunk, that’s all_ , he reminds himself as he quickly recounts their other recent text conversations in his head. _Just because he’s been nicer than usual towards you lately doesn’t mean he’s reciprocating the years-long crush you’ve been harboring for him. He’s probably just taking pity on you since you nearly died from anthrax poisoning a few weeks ago_.

(Well, at least- he’s _trying_ not to entertain the less-than-platonic feelings bouncing around in his brain. It’s harder than he thought, though, since Morgan’s still sending affection-ladened text to his phone.)

_wish youu came out w us tonite bby_

_miss that big brain of urs_

It’s likely that Morgan’s going to persist until Reid responds, so that he does, weighing his word choice carefully.

_You know I’m not a fan of clubs,_ ~~_Morgan_ ~~ _Derek. You seem like you’re having a pretty good time tonight regardless. Don’t drink too much, I don’t want to see your mugshot on the morning news tomorrow_ . 

His statement is fully in jest, since he knows Morgan’s smart enough to not get arrested for public indecency. Plus, he has the gift (or the curse, depending on how you choose to look at it) of having a _ridiculously_ pretty face, so he’s able to get out of most sticky situations with just a smile and a wink.

(Reid’s definitely not picturing that smile aimed at him right this very minute, no he certainly is _not_.)

 _mmm, still wanna have my prettyyy boi here next to me_ . _garcia and emm are leaving already, i’m gonna be ALL ALONE_

Morgan’s choice of emphasis makes Reid laugh audibly, imagining the older man jamming his thumb at the “caps lock” button on his phone’s small keyboard while battling the drunkenness’s effects on his fingers. Rationally, though, he’s also somewhat concerned about him- yes, he’s a strong and assertive man, but given how drunk he seems to be, it’s probably not a good idea for him to be on his own in a downtown D.C. bar right now.

That doesn’t mean Reid’s not going to poke a little bit of fun at Morgan’s expense, though. When else does he have the opportunity to so clearly have the upper hand in their relationship?

 _Friendship_ , Reid reminds himself. _Not a relationship, it’s a_ friendship _we’re talking about._ Even at 1:45am, his brain’s still pretty insistent on the semantics. 

_How ever will you survive?_

_Kidding, of course, Morgan. Want me to come pick you up?_

It’s only a somewhat-selfish offer; he knows Morgan could probably get a ride home with one of the girls or in a taxi, but he’s already awake now, and he knows himself well enough to realize that he probably won’t be able to fall asleep again any time soon. Plus, he rarely gets to see Morgan in this state.

The older man’s response is nearly immediate, the aggressive vibration buzz almost knocking the phone out of Reid’s hand.

_omg YES bby love when my pretty boy gives me a ride_

Oh boy, that choice of words certainly sends blood rushing to all of Reid’s extremities, and he pulls the nearby pillow into his lap for a little bit of comfort and relief. Innuendo aside, he’s glad that Morgan wants to take him up on his offer of a ride home; the last thing any of them needs is for a drunk and flirtatious FBI agent to be wandering the busy streets of Washington D.C. at 2 o’clock in the morning.

_Ah, okay, Morgan. I’ll see you in 15 minutes. Dugan’s, right? Try not to fuck anything up until I get there_ . 

It’s rare that Reid will curse, either out loud or in written form, but his brain’s not exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment. He climbs out of bed, cursing himself for both his ever-present helpfulness and his impossibly-unrequited crush on Derek Morgan as he scrambles to turn on his bed-side lamp and find a pair of shoes to wear. The older man’s name lights up on his phone once again, signifying another text. And of course, even drunk Morgan can’t resist calling him out for using profanity (though the way he does it certainly doesn’t help him relax).

_ooo naught boy!! yayyyy see you thenm baby_

Since Reid’s apartment is fairly small, it only takes him a couple of minutes to tie his shoes, grab a coat- it’s pretty brisk outside, especially for this time of night-slash-morning- and lock his front door before heading downstairs to hop in his car. Luckily, the bar that the team frequents- Dugan’s, a popular joint for federal agents and political staffers on the Hill- is only 2 miles from his house, so he’s pulling up outside the establishment in record time.

And lo and behold, Morgan’s waiting out front, leaning precariously against a street lamp with his leather jacket in his arms and his ridiculously tight v-neck tee pulled down more than usual, exposing his muscular and tanned chest. Once the older man notices Reid’s car by the sidewalk, he clumsily makes his way to the passenger side door, which Reid’s already rolled down.

“Hey, Derek,” he calls out the window, though Morgan’s already encroaching on his personal space and hanging over the door. 

“Pretty boyyy,” the older man slurs out, stumbling slightly. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Reid rolls his eyes slightly at that, but he smiles all the same. He and Morgan had definitely gotten closer in the past few years- it’s a far cry from the awkwardness of their nerd vs. jock dynamic when Reid first started at the BAU- and he’ll admit, he’s really enjoying the genuine friendship vibes he’s getting from the situation.

It’s a shame, then, that his brain can’t resist clinging to all of the flirtatious subtext in their conversations; especially since Morgan, the womanizer to the extreme, is probably painfully straight.

Shoving down those feelings and instead assuming the role of a concerned friend, Reid unlocks his door and motions for Morgan to climb into the car. “You really went all-out tonight, didn’t you, Morgan? My car’s going to reek of liquor after this.” It’s a somewhat chiding comment, but there’s no weight behind his words.

“Mmm, drunk on you, baby boy,” Morgan drawls as he clumsily buckles his seat belt around his body. Reid looks over at him, and he can’t help but flush a pale pink color at Morgan’s grin- though he curses himself internally for how frequently he’s imagined that man’s expression aimed at him before.

He smiles too, as Morgan leans over and invades his personal space further, planting a swift and almost uncomfortably-wet kiss on his temple. 

That, actually, elicits a loud gasp from the younger man.

“Uhh, Morgan? I’m going to take you home. I think you’re a bit too drunk to be liable for your actions right now, okay?” Reid’s turned an almost-permanent shade of tomato-red at this point; it’s not like he’s pictured Morgan kissing him in his dreams on permanent repeat, no? 

The older man pouts- literally, bottom lip pushed out and everything- at that. “I’m not thaaaaat drunk,” he insists, but his very statement seems to prove Reid’s point even further. “Seriously, I was gonna make a move on you earlier but Garcia told me not to wake you up.” His sentence is completed with a rather large hiccup, and the noise is enough to remind Reid that they’re still sitting in his car, unmoving, on a fairly bustling downtown street.

He cranks the ignition on his car and pulls away from the curb, driving in the direction of Morgan’s brownstone home but altogether uncertain of his game plan, especially given Derek’s rather-undeniable admission of (more than platonic, at least) feelings towards him. When the older man leans over and prods him with his finger, it reminds him that he still hasn’t responded.

“Derek, you’re pretty drunk,” Reid replies, internally cursing himself and thanking himself at the same time. He’s fairly impressed with himself for holding it together this well, not just because he’s got a considerably-drunk FBI agent in the passenger seat of his car.

But also because Morgan basically just confessed that he had feelings for him, and if Reid was any less focused on driving right now, he probably would’ve crashed his car.

Morgan’s still looking at him, expectantly (for what? A response? Denial? Acceptance? Even Reid’s IQ of 187 can’t quite figure it out), so Reid throws caution to the wind and opens his mouth.

“You just, uh, told me you like me, didn’t you?”

“Pretty boy, you _know_ I like you, right? Man I’ve been harboring this crush on you for who knows how long at this point. What do I gotta do to prove it to you, make one of those little ‘do you like me, check yes or no’ cards? Because I will, don’t even doubt my commitment to this cause, I’ll do it right this second if that’s what it takes,” Morgan rambles, almost mirroring Reid’s incessant chatter (though for Morgan, it seems to only become a habit when he’s drunk). He turns his attention to rifling through Reid’s glove box and center console, likely looking for a pencil and paper to make his recently-stated plan a reality.

Reid removes his right hand from the steering wheel- thanking whatever God that exists for the fairly empty roads in Morgan’s neighborhood at this time of night- and places it on top Morgan’s moving fingers to still his motions.

This time- unlike all the previous iterations that occurred in Reid’s daydreams- there’s no denying the sparks that alight when their fingers touch, and though Reid tries to stifle his slight intake of breath, Morgan refrains and gasps somewhat loudly.

“Oh baby we’re holding hands now? Can I hold your hand?” the older man asks rapidly, as if all in one breath. Reid considers moving his hand away- even though Morgan’s the one to ask, he still feels somewhat bad given the man’s clear drunkenness and inability to truly consent.

But when Morgan’s fingers wrap around his own more narrow ones, he simply refrains from questioning it and instead revels in the simplicity of it while he recounts Morgan’s rather long declaration of- well, not exactly _love_ , but feelings of some sort- only moments ago. 

“Yep, you’re definitely drunk,” Reid muses, though he hopes the man’s less intoxicated than he’s letting on. This feeling- this impossible closeness of their hands pressed together- is pretty unforgettable, and he’s silently pleading that the man won’t wake up to regret it in the morning.

“Yes, I am, smart boy,” is Morgan’s surprisingly-honest retort. “I was getting all sad and mopey at the bar, and Prentiss and Garcia kept buying me more beer, and I was planning on only getting tipsy so that I could finally confess my feelings to you but then, uh, I got plastered.”

Reid nods, and he’s about to speak in response when he feels Morgan squeeze his hand- not tightly, just a reminder of the man’s presence. 

“It’s just, it’s weird, you know?” Reid’s not sure exactly what Morgan’s referring to as “it,” but he stays silent as the man continues. “I mean, you’re my bro, you’re my best friend, but also, I almost watched you die? Like, at least 4 times in the past few years. And we share hotel rooms and we joke around on the plane and now I really just want to kiss you for real.”

The younger man’s eyebrows raise, and he struggles to drive in a perfectly straight line, but it’s pretty perfect timing since he’s pulling the car into Morgan’s driveway. He drives up to the front of the garage and parks the car but makes no move to get out.

He’s honestly not sure his legs would support him in walking after what he just heard; Morgan just admitted to wanting to kiss _him_. Him, Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, the awkwardly nerdy profiler who’s never quite felt at home anywhere, except on the BAU team.

So instead, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to face Morgan more comfortably. He’s still not sure what to say, though.

Luckily, Morgan seems to have a plan for that too, since the older man leans over the center console, closing the already small distance between them, and gently (impossibly so, given his lack of motor skills at the moment) kisses Reid’s slightly-parted lips. 

This time, Reid really is speechless (that seems to be happening a lot at the moment, honestly), but he sighs against Morgan’s mouth, almost unconsciously leaning in closer and deepening the kiss.

It’s over quickly, though, and they’re both pulling apart, Morgan’s fiery eyes meeting Reid’s uncertain hazel ones.

“We, uh, you’re drunk, you didn’t mean that, I should go,” Reid rattles off, tangling his fingers together in his lap and trying to avert his eyes from Morgan’s steely gaze.

“Pretty boy,” Morgan exhales, maintaining eye contact as best he can. “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you this for months now- I _like_ you, Spence.” The usage of his first name is enough to make Reid realize just how serious Morgan’s being about all of this, and in the dull light emanating from Morgan’s porch, he can see that the man’s intoxication has subsided considerably.

“Can we go inside and talk about this?” Morgan offers, already moving to get out of the car.

And Reid considers saying no, considering blaming all of this on Morgan’s drunkenness and his own exhaustion and just going home, wondering if he can (or will) forget about all of this in the morning, but God it’s hard to resist Morgan’s thousand-kilowatt smile- especially after all the things he’s just said.

Plus, if this is all just a dream (albeit a ridiculously real-feeling one), he’d like to enjoy it a little while longer.

So he unlocks his driver’s side door and steps out, following Morgan to the side entrance and into the house. He doesn’t hear barking, so Clooney’s likely already asleep somewhere in the house. That’s good- he’s not sure he has the mental capacity to deal with Morgan’s confession of feelings towards him _and_ a rambunctious German Shepherd dog at the moment.

Morgan flicks on a couple of lights as he directs Reid towards the couch and sits down, motioning for the younger man to join him. In the dimly lit room, he can tell that Morgan’s actually sobered up quite a bit, but his own nerves haven’t given up yet.

The older man speaks first, reaching out to once again hold Reid’s hand.

(He’s hoping, praying to whatever God he believes in, that this is _not_ a dream, because he doesn’t want to lose sight of that particular feeling any time soon.)

“I know I’m still coming down from the buzz, and I really am sorry for dumping all of this on you at, damn, 2:30 in the morning? I really do have awful timing,” Morgan acknowledges. “I mean it though. I’ve liked you for a ridiculously long time.”  
  
That gets Reid’s attention, and he opens his mouth to speak. “How long?” His voice is barely above a whisper, still hesitant about the entirety of the situation.

“It hit me when you died, Reid,” Morgan says with a shrug. “When Hankel was trying to resuscitate you in that godforsaken barn and we almost lost you. But I think I just suppressed it, that was so close to when everything came out in Chicago, and I wasn’t ready to deal with it.” Reid nods along, thinking about how unbelievably stressful that short stretch of months had been on the team, not ending until Gideon left abruptly. 

“But I think- honestly, I’ve liked you since I met you. I think at first, I probably just wanted to kiss you to see what it felt like, see if I could shut you and all those statistics up with my lips against yours-” his words sending a similarly-charged electric shock through Reid’s veins now as his other texts had earlier- “but then it grew, and I just wanted to take care of you, and then you got fucking anthrax poisoning, and we almost lost you again, and I’m sick of just hiding my feelings when I should’ve just been kissing you this whole time.”

Morgan’s almost out of breath, now, and it’s his turn to avert his eyes as if ashamed by his long-winded admission of feelings.

Reid, instead, squeezes the older man’s hand and scoots closer to the man on the couch. 

“I- I had no idea, Morgan,” he stutters out. “I’ve liked you for so long, this all just feels like a dream. I mean, you started calling me ‘pretty boy’ within months of meeting me and I won’t lie that I hoped it meant something more than just a friendly nickname, and it didn’t, but now I think it does. I just- I guess I assumed you were straight, or wouldn’t want anything to do with me after everything that happened in Chicago, but it’s like we only got _closer_ and I just..” Reid’s speechless this time, as his brain scrambles to catalogue every mention of the “pretty boy” nickname- its frequency has _definitely_ increased in recent months. 

“I know, kid. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, and I guess I tried not to feel it,” Morgan explains. “But shit, man, we’ve lost too much, sacrificed too many personal relationships for this job, and I don’t want to lose you too. So, um, if you want to pretend like this never happened on Monday, I can try and do that too.”

Reid’s brain can barely even process that. _Morgan’s_ the one who’s afraid about his response, and not the other way around? If this really is a dream (and luckily, he’s almost convinced himself otherwise), it must be a parallel universe.

So instead he sighs, but he’s still smiling. “I can’t pretend like this never happened, Morgan,” as a clever nod to his eidetic memory, and impossibly, Morgan’s face falls. “But I also don’t want to.”

That seems to be the sentence that breaks the dam of emotions that they’re both beginning to drown in, and Reid somehow gathers the confidence to kiss Morgan this time, the motion laced with a passion he almost surprises himself with.

This kiss is less hesitant, less gentle than the subtle brushing of lips in the car only minutes earlier (though it almost feels like a lifetime has elapsed in the meantime). Before he can stop himself, Reid’s moved even closer to Morgan and their bodies are pressed against each other as the kiss deepens.

But again, Reid’s the first one to pull away. This time, he’s smiling, and the blush is from excitement, not embarrassment.

“You’re serious?” Morgan asks, incredulous. “You want this too?”

“Morgan,” Reid whispers. “I’ve wanted you since I met you.”

And after so long, after so many months of pretending to never even consider the possibility of being more than friends, even his wildest imagination couldn’t have pictured the feelings of sheer happiness flooding his veins.

There’s more to discuss, of course, and Reid isn’t blind to the realization that Morgan’s still a little bit tipsy, and they’re not exactly taking the normal path to a relationship.

Then again, they’re both FBI agents; when has anything in their lives ever actually been _normal_?

So when they move upstairs to Morgan’s bedroom, clothes still on in a promise not to progress any further until they have a sober discussion at a reasonable hour, and finally wrap their bodies around each other, their limbs whispering the story of their love before their mouths can-

Reid’s grateful, after all this time, that he gets to share this sense of absolute unconventionality with the man he’s loved since the very beginning. 

(Even when Clooney climbs into bed with them, aversion to dogs be damned, he’s undeniably happy for their unusual little family, no matter how new it is.)


End file.
